The Family in the Woods
The case commonly known as “the family in the woods” has caused a great stir and endless controversy. A family consisting of two parents and three children decided to live in a farmhouse without all the conveniences and habits that are now widespread in our countries and that, generally speaking, we can hardly do without: mobile phones, televisions, electricity, and even hot water from a water heater, and so on.
They therefore live in close contact with nature, as people did centuries ago, convinced that modern society is alienating, that it does not truly fulfill the humanity within us, and therefore makes us unhappy. Beliefs of this kind are fairly widespread in our society and are constantly repeated by many intellectuals; one might even say that they are fashionable. However, such beliefs remain only at an abstract, purely theoretical level, because none of those who support them actually gives up all the means and comforts that we enjoy. The family in the woods, by contrast, has been consistent, and the parents have concluded that, for the happiness and genuine human development of their children, it was necessary to renounce so much alienation and truly live in a world that they consider natural, one that allows self-realization. At a certain point, following a report from social services, the judiciary intervened and ruled that this way of life was harmful to the rights of the children. After a series of developments, the children were even removed from their parents and placed in educational facilities.
The question that arises, therefore, is to what extent the education of children belongs to the family. Normally, intervention occurs when parents mistreat their children or fail to care for them, but in this case the situation is entirely different: no one doubts the affection and devoted care that the parents have always shown toward their beloved children.
The issue thus becomes whether such an upbringing may be detrimental to the children's future.
In this context, we shall not examine the case itself, either from a legal or a human perspective, but rather the broader problem that it represents.
But what exactly does this “education of the woods” consist of?
At first glance, our thoughts turn to the educational model proposed by Rousseau in Émile several centuries ago, later adopted as a model by Progressive Education at the beginning of the twentieth century and still echoed in contemporary pedagogy. Rousseau proposed that the child be removed from the society of his time, considered corrupt and decadent, in order to promote educational development according to the child’s own nature. In reality, no educational movement has ever followed Rousseau’s model literally, since it is clearly impracticable. Nevertheless, educators have embraced the idea that the child should not be passive in learning or merely follow whatever the teacher imposes, because this leads to the ineffectiveness of the educational process itself. Once school is over, everything that has been taught is forgotten. If, on the other hand, the child is active—that is, if he somehow discovers principles, values, and the meaning of life for himself—then all this becomes truly effective because it genuinely shapes his personality.
However, we must also realize that what the child learns, whether passively or actively, is still what our civilization considers true and right. If we allow a child genuinely to follow only his own impulses, we will end up with a wild being possessing limited intellectual abilities.
It is well known that if a child is abandoned, perhaps in a forest, he eventually becomes severely impaired, even if genetically intelligent, because our empirical and rational abilities develop through the teachings of society. Without them, development does not occur: the myth of Tarzan is entirely unfounded. Our nature, in fact, is to live within society, whose form is not fixed but changes across time and space. Animals blindly follow their instincts, and parents, sometimes but not always, merely help them develop those instincts (for example, birds learning to fly). Human beings, however, possess fundamental instincts—or better, natural tendencies—but they express them according to the cultural and social context in which they live. Certainly, we humans have instincts for reproduction, for seeking food, for pursuing well-being in every sphere, and so on. Yet, unlike animals, there is no single way for human beings to fulfill these tendencies. There is no single model of family: some are polygamous and others monogamous; male and female roles differ; relationships between spouses vary enormously, ranging from the complete subordination of women to full equality between the sexes. The same applies to food: primitive peoples relied on gathering in nature, then humanity moved to agriculture and pastoralism, and today food production has largely become industrialized. Likewise, we seek well-being, health, security, and entertainment, but all these are pursued in very different ways. Whereas children once played traditional games outdoors, today they mostly play through digital technology.
It is therefore true that education is ex ducere, “to lead out,” to bring forth and realize human nature, but this always occurs within the culture of a society.
The ideal that motivates the education practiced by the family in the woods is not really the idea of letting children act freely according to their feelings; rather, it is grounded in a rejection of our society—a rejection that, as we have said, is widespread, although often only at a theoretical level, or perhaps more accurately, only in words.
It seems, however, that these parents take that rejection seriously and consistently. This gives rise to what appears to us to be the essential issue in this case. It is true that parents are responsible for the education of their children, but this principle also has limits. For example, can we allow parents to educate their children toward delinquency, theft, or violence? Can we permit them to teach sexual promiscuity or even pedophilia?
The answer is clearly no, even though the means of actual intervention are often very limited.
But in the present case, we ask ourselves: if children are educated to live in a woodland society that essentially no longer exists, will they perhaps become maladjusted or marginalized individuals within the society that actually exists and in which they will have to live?
We are not addressing the question of whether our society is alienating or evil; that is a legitimate opinion. Rather, we are asking whether children may be educated not to live in the society of which they are nevertheless a part, regardless of how we judge that society.
Education is ultimately the transmission of values, beliefs, and ways of life that prepare new generations to live within their society. Certainly, society can be challenged; indeed, in some sense it must be challenged, since all human progress stems precisely from such challenges. But can that challenge, that rejection of a way of life, properly belong to children? We believe not. It may be the work of adults who are aware of the complexity of the issues involved. Adolescents, too, are always challenging things, because this is how they develop their own personalities and convictions. But, in our view, this cannot be elevated to the level of childhood education. If we teach our children that our society is evil, we impose upon them our personal convictions rather than the convictions that characterize our age and our world. Of course, the child should not be passive; he should be critical. Yet first of all he must know what he is criticizing, which means he must first understand the culture into which he was born and which he may later criticize, modify, or even overturn.
To give an example, I may personally believe that military valor represents the fulfillment of human nature, as was the case in Spartan culture. Yet I cannot instill this idea in children born in our own age, an age in which almost everyone rejects war as something terrible that should be avoided whenever possible. Perhaps, once they have matured, those children may come to reassess war; anything is possible (though we certainly hope not).
An incident that occurred in Modena a few days ago received extraordinary media attention: a car drove into a crowd and struck a number of pedestrians. The driver, armed with a knife, then attempted to flee, but was stopped by bystanders and handed over to the police. It emerged that the driver, a certain El Koudri, born in Italy to Egyptian parents and therefore an Italian citizen, as well as a university graduate in Italy, had deliberately attempted to carry out a massacre. It was later established that in previous years the attacker had been treated for psychiatric disorders.
The controversy and media attention surrounding the event are linked to the heated debates between those on the political right, who sought to interpret the incident as a consequence of immigration and Islamic fundamentalism, and those, generally on the left, who argued instead that it was simply a case of mental illness.
Without entering into the discussion about the effects of immigration and the danger of Islamic fundamentalism, it seems entirely evident to us that these issues have nothing to do with the Modena incident.
There are mental disorders, madness, which affect everyone regardless of culture or race, just like appendicitis or diabetes. To exploit this event in support of a particular thesis, even one that might otherwise be valid, seems foolish to me.
A different issue is the massacres committed in the name of religious extremism, which stem from a particular interpretation of reality: Catholics, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and Buddhists do not carry out terrorist attacks; Islamists do.
Another issue still is ordinary crime linked to poverty and hardship: those who have a job and a decent economic condition generally do not commit muggings.
Now, immigration may have some influence on terrorism and ordinary crime, but not on madness.
Generally speaking, we refer to an act as terrorism when it is carried out by an organization, whereas we tend to think of madness when it is the act of a lone individual. If a person shoots politicians because he believes the political system is unjust, we think him insane; but if the Red Brigades kidnap Moro and kill him, we think of terrorism or, according to some viewpoints, an incipient revolution.
It is true, however, that there are lone wolves in Islamic terrorism: yet it seems difficult to think of them as mentally balanced individuals. In reality, madmen may use as a pretext for their actions motivations that, in themselves, might make sense. Returning to the example of the Red Brigades, they targeted judges whom they considered accomplices of the regime; but killing a judge because the justice system does not function properly makes no sense — it is simply a mad act. Similarly, one may oppose certain excesses of feminism, but if one kills a woman solely out of hatred for feminism, we are dealing with madness.
One of his emails was also published, in which, exasperated because he could not find work, he wrote: “Christian bastards, you and your Jesus Christ on the cross. I’ll burn him.”
But Christians are one thing, Jesus another: for Muslims, Jesus is respected as a great prophet; they also venerate the Virgin Mary, and in any case Christians and Jews are “People of the Book,” who must be respected. Indeed, Christian communities have survived in the Middle East up to the present day.
There has also been discussion of the second generation, supposedly more inclined to hatred toward their new homeland and therefore more easily drawn to fundamentalist terrorism.
Now, it is true that second- and third-generation immigrants often seek out and rediscover their origins: this also happens, for example, among Italian emigrants in America. However, this certainly does not seem to be the case with El Koudri, who does not appear at all interested in rediscovering his origins and above all does not seem connected to Islam: he does not even attend mosques or any Arab-Islamic organization.
Nor can we interpret the episode as a consequence of social hardship or marginalization. The man even had a university degree: it is true that he could not find work, but this probably depended on his mental instability.
Even the fact that he was planning a massacre does not at all mean that his motivation was the shahada (profession of faith); rather, it appears clear that this was simply madness.
One need only think of the many massacres that occur in America, generally in schools, without any motive other than mental imbalance.
Some have also claimed that the blame lies with the motor vehicle authority, which had allowed the attacker to retain his driver’s license despite his instability. But this issue would only be relevant if he had caused an accident because he lost control of the car: this was instead a deliberate act of running people over; it has nothing to do with the ability to drive.
It has also been said that he later apologized, and that someone acting out of madness would not realize what they had done. But this is not true: someone who realizes they acted in a fit of madness may ask forgiveness and feel remorse. Others, on the contrary, may not realize at all what they have done: it depends on the case.
In conclusion, all these controversies have nothing to do with the Modena incident, which stems from mental disorders that exist in every civilization and that may use as a pretext elements drawn from a person’s culture — or anti-culture.
This year too, practically as every year, the celebrations of the national holiday of April 25th were marked here and there by disorder and clashes: something that does not occur in the national holidays of other countries and that runs counter to the very concept of a national holiday, namely that of the entire nation.
In particular, it happened that representatives of the Jewish Brigade marched waving Israeli flags and also, it seems, a portrait of Netanyahu, provoking strong reactions, especially from the more left-wing demonstrators inclined toward the pro-Palestinian cause. Indeed, bringing symbols of the Israeli government into a national celebration, at a moment when it is pursuing a bloody military policy, does not seem very appropriate; indeed, I would say it sounds in sharp contrast with the spirit of a national holiday. Whatever judgment each of us may give on current Israeli policy, it is an objective fact that it meets the opposition—indeed, I would say the indignation—of the greater part of the nation, and this fits poorly with the spirit of the commemoration.
At a certain point the Jewish representatives were forced by the police to step aside, and then there was talk of antisemitism: strangely, the celebration of victory over fascism was accused of being imbued with antisemitism, which is universally regarded as the most nefarious aspect of Nazi-fascism.
Leaving aside particular cases, the problem that arises is why a national holiday, which should unite all Italians, always ends in divisions and clashes among Italians.
For example, if we consider in France the anniversary of the storming of the Bastille, one has never heard of disorders taking place, just as in the United States for Independence Day on July 4th, or Thanksgiving in November giving rise to conflict and clashes; whereas such things seem to happen only in Italy.
The explanation, in our view, lies in the way the commemoration is understood. If it is a national holiday, the historical reality of the event commemorated is not what is at issue; rather, it assumes the role of a symbol, an emblem of the nation. If one celebrates the storming of the Bastille, one does not focus on the historical reality, in which it certainly was not an event shared by all French people of the time, but rather a violent, bloody conflict later marked by massacres and repression (one may think of Robespierre’s Terror or the repression in the Vendée). Likewise, American independence was also the outcome of a civil war (a historical fact that is practically ignored). The same applies to Thanksgiving: it refers to an event that has become symbolic, quite different from historical reality. Quite apart from the fact that there was no turkey on the tables—an essential element of today’s celebration—the holiday was promoted after the American Civil War as a manifestation of the religious spirit of the North (of the Pilgrim Fathers), in opposition to Black slavery in the South.
But all this is ignored, and North and South celebrate alike.
A symbol is something different from effective reality: if we say a man is a lion, we certainly do not mean he is a feline.
We too in Italy have many Piazza del Plebiscito, recalling annexation to the Kingdom of Italy, which historically was not exactly an expression of plebiscitary will: one need only think of the eruption of southern brigandage. We have streets named after Mazzini and Cavour without anyone reflecting that these two figures had very little in common, and that the Italy born of Cavour’s work was quite different from the one dreamed of by Mazzini.
In Italy, however, Liberation Day on April 25th has not become a symbol more or less detached from historical reality, but retains reference to a historical event that is, moreover, interpreted differently by political sides.
It is considered the birth of democracy, yet it is pointed out that the strongest component of the partisan movement was the communist one, which then had in mind a Stalinist Soviet model (“adda venì baffone”), very far from the representative democracy that later emerged. Above all, one should consider that part of the demonstrators believe that the current right wing, now in government, is fundamentally a child of fascism. But if a part of Italians—even, at this moment, a slight majority—does not share the ideals of the Resistance, then we can no longer consider April 25th a national holiday, which by definition is the holiday of the WHOLE nation and not of one part of it.
To consider April 25th as a historical event still unfolding, still current, as all the rhetorical speeches on that day repeat, would mean depriving that commemoration of the symbolic value a national holiday must have, as happens with Bastille Day, the Declaration of Independence, and Thanksgiving for Americans.
If, in short, we say “now is always Resistance,” then we are saying that one part of Italians is fighting against another part of Italians, and therefore it is impossible for all Italians to identify with it.
Hence the fact that it becomes an occasion for conflict rather than for national unity, as every national holiday ought to be.
To give an example: Christmas is certainly a Christian religious holiday; yet even those who are not believers celebrate it all the same, because it has set aside its original religious meaning and has become the celebration of the family, above all of children, as the continuation of life, of generations meeting one another, and everyone feels its charm.
If we were to consider Christmas only from a religious point of view, we would no longer have a celebration for everyone, but only an occasion on which believers and unbelievers would clash over whether the birth of Jesus is merely a legendary invention or whether in Bethlehem God himself truly became incarnate.
